


Stay (I'll Look After You)

by CluelessKitten



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: All the non-consent, Alternate Universe, Dark, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CluelessKitten/pseuds/CluelessKitten
Summary: When Tony suddenly reappears after three years, claiming he's from an alternate universe and that they're not the people he knows, it's up to the Avengers to look after him.Unfortunately, after failing to stop Thanos, Steve is the only one left.And Steve is determined not to lose anyone again.





	Stay (I'll Look After You)

,

,

,

Tony comes back to them … _different_.

Steve leans back on his chair at Tony’s bedside and squeezes his eyes shut. The steady, if slightly grating, beat of the heart monitor grounds him, makes the echoes of Tony’s screams just a few minutes before, a little more distant.

He’s injured. Thin. Scared.

It’s painful seeing him this way, and Steve doesn’t even know how to begin. What can he say?

_Tony, it’s been three years._

_Tony, you’re on Earth now_

_Tony, I’m sorry_

Tony’s wrists and ankles are bound to the bedframe to keep him from hurting himself. He’d struggled so wildly earlier, scratching at the medical staff, screaming obscenities and accusations at Steve.

“What happened to ‘together’, asshole?” he’d shouted. Tears in his eyes, voice cracking, before he doubled over in a violent coughing fit.

There’s a large, gaping wound in his side and a removable arc reactor on his chest Steve doesn’t recognize. But Steve also rescued him from the ashes of a seemingly dead alien planet, so he’s not sure what’s happened to Tony. A part of him is afraid to ask. A bigger part wants to rip the skies apart and watch the pieces bleed into the horizon.

“Oh, Tony,” he murmurs softly. His hand rises up almost unbidden to stroke his pale cheek. “What did they do to you?”

In the next few hours, Steve braces himself for anything. Any state of mind that might greet him when the sedatives wear off and Tony wakes up again. The nurses try talking him into going home once, after visiting hours were over, telling him he needs to at least eat something, but he doesn’t go. He can’t. What if Tony isn’t there when he gets back? What if a complication occurs while he’s out? What if he wakes up screaming again?

He can’t risk it.

But when Tony’s bleary eyes finally open, he is quiet. Silent like grief, like defeat, like death, he lies on the bed and stares into empty air.

“Tony,” Steve tries again, gently. It has been three years, after all, and the doctors warn him that, depending on whatever happened while he was away, Tony might never really recover. “Do you know who I am?”

“Steve…”

Hope flutters, and he smiles encouragingly as he straightens up. “That’s right, Tony. Do you know where you are?”

“…Hospital?”

“Yes, Tony.” God, he won’t ever get tired of saying his name. “You’re on Earth now. You’re safe.”

Far from reassuring him, however, Tony begins shaking badly. The heart monitor beeps dangerously. “I lost him,” he says, and then again and again. “I lost him, Steve. I _lost him_.”

“Who, Tony?”

“Peter – the kid, the kid! God, Steve, I lost Peter.” He sobs.

Steve doesn’t know anyone named Peter, but he moves forward anyway, awkwardly taking Tony into his arms as much as he can despite the restraints. He’s calmer now, so maybe it would be safe to take them off in a minute or two. He isn’t sure, though – Tony weeps openly, and the hysteria from before might not be too far behind.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers, brokenly. He’s never quite seen Tony cracked open like this before, and the feeling of relief at not having to guess Tony’s emotional state wars with the hatred of seeing him so broken down. “I’m sorry, Tony. I know you did everything you could.”

Tony is limp in his arms as he says, “It doesn’t matter now. Thanos won.”

Thanos?

Steve draws back, even if he can’t quite take his hands off Tony now that he’s felt the frailty of the man under the hospital sheets and clothes. “You know about Thanos?”

He shouldn’t. Thanos came after Tony had … gone. Almost a year ago, in fact.

But Tony scoffs. “Of course, I fucking know. Who else did I fight on Titan with that Strange guy and the Guardians of the Universe – or something.”

“Guardians of the Galaxy,” he corrects, still confused.

“You’ve met?”

Steve looks worriedly at him. “_We’ve_ met them.” And when he reaches up to feel Tony’s forehead, his hand is irately batted away.

“No, we certainly have not.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

“I think,” Steve says, licking his lips slowly, “I’ll get the doctor.”

,

Three years since Tony was gone, and the world is on fire.

It’s not exactly the homecoming Steve wants him to have. _Hey, Tony, guess what? While you were gone, everything went to hell and then Thanos came by and danced on the broken pieces_.

He’s supposed to be better than this. But how could he have been better without Tony?

The hospital is fairly isolated from communication lines and media outlets, so current news doesn’t manage to filter into Tony’s recovery period. Steve sends a small message out to the medical staff with a warning to keep it that way. He doesn’t want Tony stressed about things he can’t change during his convalescence. Knowing him, he would probably find a way to blame himself for events that occurred while he wasn’t even around.

Then, one day, Steve walks into the room and finds himself alone.

Tony is stubborn and smart, brilliant and handsome, and Steve is afraidafraid_afraid_ that they won’t find him before he reaches the streets, the chaos, Steve’s absolute, resounding _failure_. An alert is sent out to all of the floors, to the security and staff, and Steve tears through the building to the quick beat of _too late_ drumming in his heart.

He finds Tony fallen near one of the back exits, and lets out a breath of relief.

“Stay away!”

“Tony, stop – are you seriously crawling away from me?” Disbelief gives Steve pause, but only for a moment before he resumes his approach. “You’re injured! You can’t just run off, and – _stop moving away from me, god damnit_.”

His voice drops into a growl, and Tony freezes like some prey animal. Steve softens his stance and tries to speak more gently.

“Tony, it’s not safe outside, and you’re injured,” he says, calmly, palms raised outwards. “So, when you went missing – I panicked. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Tony licks his lips. His eyes dart around the corridor frantically, but there are no alternative paths, and he can’t outrun Steve with his current injuries. “I don’t belong here,” he cries out desperately. “I think I’m … I think I’m in an alternate universe!”

And Steve _stops_. His heart thunders in his ears, blood rushing, and he can’t control himself as his voice turns into something sharp and ugly. “That’s ridiculous. You belong _here_, Tony. You don’t…” He flails for an answer, before he forces the calm to take over and he smiles. He crouches in front of Tony, says, “Tony, you’re confused. _Of course_, you belong here. Where else would you be?”

Three years trapped with Thanos? That would fuck anyone’s memories up, probably.

“No,” Tony whispers, adorable brown doe eyes wide. “No, that’s not–”

“You don’t know anyone named Peter,” Steve says, soothingly. “You never really dated Pepper even though you did try for a while, and you’ve been gone for three years.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I know how hard this is–”

“_No_.” And now, he’s scrambling away from Steve as fast as he can. Steve’s heart breaks as he watches, but Tony’s mind is clearly addled by his experiences. “No, you have to believe me, I’m not from here!”

And Steve shakes his head. “Oh, Tony… What did Thanos do to you?”

He picks him up, and Tony starts screaming.

It looks like they’ll need the restraints again.

,

There are bruises on Tony’s wrists and ankles.

“The doctors think they can discharge you next week. Isn’t that great?” Undeterred by his silence, Steve feeds Tony another bite of hospital food. It isn’t good, but at least the doctors have approved of moving him onto solids now. “You won’t have to be here for much longer.”

Tony sullenly accepts the food from Steve. There was a bad moment, when he’d refused to consume anything. Prying open his jaw and holding it open using pressure points so Steve could force-feed him was a tragic experience, and one so unpleasant that Tony hasn’t tried pulling a repeat just yet.

He smiles softly, stroking his greasy hair away from his face. “You’re doing so well, Tony.”

“Let me go.”

It’s a quiet thing. His voice is little more than a rasp after so many days spent screaming at them.

“Please.”

Steve sighs. “Oh, Tony. And where, exactly, would you go?”

Tony tugs on the restraints halfheartedly. “At least … at least take the restraints away. Please? Steve?”

If it was anyone else, Steve might have believed it. But Tony is wily, and still not entirely convinced that he belongs here, even if he hasn’t said so since that first week after his escape, when he realized no one would believe such a thing.

“You know I can’t do that,” Steve says, with a sad shake of his head. “Tony.” His heart hurts to remember. “You tried to leave me.”

Hints of gray pepper Tony’s hair, and he looks old and fragile on the bed, although no less handsome. “_Steve_.”

“There’s nowhere else you need to be,” he tells him, “And no one to work for. All you have to do … is stay.”

“I will, _I will_! Steve, I – I’m sorry about last time, I won’t go, I promise I won’t.”

He smiles, wiping away the lone tear that tracks down Tony’s face with his finger. “I know. Now, rest.”

,

Tony is different and the doctors say he might never recover, so Steve carefully mixes the medicine into the plate filled with food. He feeds Tony because Tony is not well and may never be well, but that’s okay because he has Steve, and as long as Steve has him, then everything is worth it.

Tony lies on the bed, weak, still, and Steve props him up against the headboard. They’re home now, and it’s so much better than the hospital, although they’ve got a medical team on call at all hours just in case.

“Where are the others?” Tony suddenly asks. He looks better now, a healthier flush in his cheeks and just a little more weight on his slight frame. A long time ago, Tony’s motor mouth was a point of annoyance for Steve; these days, hearing his voice is so rare that he’s loath to leave the question unanswered.

He makes a show of hesitating, of sadness as he cuts up Tony’s food to feed to him in small bits, and he knows the exact moment Tony realizes the truth.

“They’re gone, aren’t they?” he asks, sounding so small and vulnerable that Steve can’t help but press a tender kiss to his forehead.

“They did their best,” he replies. Lets out a heavy breath. “None of us were enough.”

“Pepper? Happy? _Rhodey_?”

“Gone.”

Unshed tears gleam in Tony’s eyes, and Steve can only feed him patiently.

“What’s happening, Steve?” he asks, startling him. Tony’s eyes watch him shrewdly. “It must be chaos outside. Half the universe is gone … the governments, families … they’ll all be scrambling to make sense of this.”

“It was,” Steve muses idly, careful in the knowledge that the decimation is fresher in Tony’s mind than it is for the rest of them. To him, Thanos had defeated them only a few weeks ago. For the rest of the universe, it’s been a little over a year now. “It’s gotten better. Not by much, but still.” He shrugs.

“I could…” Tony swallows. “I could help. Steve.” When he doesn’t react, Tony, pushes on. “Just … get the restraints off, Steve. Please. I can _help_, I can _do_ _some_thing.”

And Steve looks at Tony. Tony, who’s still weak, who’s still aching, who looks old and tired and desperate, and he shakes his head. “I know, Tony. God, I know. But you’ve done your fair share. All you need to do now is rest. That’s all we want from you.”

Just the faint hitch of his breath, and Steve knows the tears aren’t far behind. He watches as Tony struggles against the bonds once more, thankful that the movements aren’t violent this time. Still, he squirms in the restraints, futilely trying to slip them off somehow, and Steve wonders if it isn’t more out of habit than any actual hope nowadays.

Watching Tony writhe, a small heat pools deep inside him, and he sharply puts his attention back on feeding him.

“It’s getting better every day,” Steve promises while Tony chews unhappily. “They’re rebuilding, Tony. They’re recovering.”

There are crumbs caught up on his bottom lip. They catch Steve’s eye, taunting him, and he thinks about nights spent alone after Thanos won. The accusation of the silence and phantom eyes that tell him _you should have tried harder_. He thinks about Tony, dead under him three years ago but not really because he’s here now, he’s alive and he doesn’t care how or why, just that he’s so _grateful_ not to be alone anymore.

It’s such a simple thing. A short distance. A breath, a heartbeat.

He leans forward and licks the crumbs off Tony’s lip. He watches brown eyes widen, and when Tony’s jaw drops, Steve surges and licks into his mouth, tasting and nibbling and he’s so warm and soft. Pliant. Real. _Here_.

Steve doesn’t pull away, he might _die_ if he isn’t near Tony now, but he rests their foreheads together. Breathing heavily, whispering apologies and _I love you_ and _I’m so glad you came back_.

“I need you, Tony,” escapes him, the sinner’s confession to his priest. “I need you. Never leave me again, I can’t – I _can’t_–”

A shuddering sob escapes him then. It’s the first time he’s cried in front of Tony since he came back – he’s tried to be _strong, _damnit – but there’s there's a cleansing feeling to it as the tears pour out. Tony is silent as he leans into his warmth, and Steve clings to him.

Not alone.

Not anymore.

,

“No, please, I’m sorry, I – I – _Steve_!”

It’s a curious thing, to be rejected. It’s a curious thing to have been so kind and giving and loving, then thrown away. It burns into a dark cloud, thunder and lightning as Steve stands in front of Tony, looking down at him.

Tied to the chair, Tony is helpless to whatever onslaught Steve will give him. There’s panic his eyes, fear, fear of Steve and he should be afraid.

“You promised,” Steve says, quietly. Clearly. “You said you wouldn’t leave me. You _lied_.”

“Steve, no, please, I just – I just wanted to go outside!”

“No!” The roar makes Tony jump, but he can’t find it in himself to feel sorry for it. “You were going to leave, weren’t you?” he hisses. “Admit it, Tony. You’ve been making escape plans every since the hospital, _I know you_.”

Tony swallows. “Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please, Steve, I – I promise, I wasn’t leaving you. I would never,” he babbles. “I know you love me, I _do_. I’m not going to leave you–”

“You won’t,” Steve tells him. “I won’t let you.” He falls on his knees, in between where Tony’s legs are spread open, tied as they are to the chair. He leans up and takes hold of Tony’s face. Looks into his eyes and drinks in his fear like a bitter salve. “I love you, and I wish I could hurt you or punish you, but _I love you,_ Tony.”

Close enough to taste, he whispers into Tony’s mouth, “I just wish you loved me back.”

Their kiss is nothing like the first time on the bed. It’s wild and angry, biting, but there is nowhere Tony can go or turn to as Steve holds him still. When he finally pulls away, Tony’s cheeks are flushed, lips plump and bitten red. His eyes are shining with emotion, and just once, Steve wants to love him less.

But there are things in the universe that are immutable, and try as he might, Steve will always need Tony.

And maybe it’s jealousy that makes him shove up Tony’s shirt and kiss the exposed skin with something bordering violence. Jealousy of the people Tony so obviously misses, people who aren't even _real_. He sucks long and hard on scarred flesh, sinking his teeth in until it darkens red, then purple. The ropes keep Tony still as he writhes, biting back his moans.

“Steve, stop, _stop, please_…”

It’s only when he starts dragging down Tony’s pants and underwear that Steve looks up again, reveling in the pleasure on his face.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, his voice coming out lower than usual, hoarser. His hand rises up to gently cup Tony’s flushed face, and takes a moment to kiss him more gently than he has so far. Whispers against his mouth, “I’ll show you.”

Tony’s cock is only half hard and twitching, and Steve licks it gently. Then again and again until Tony is gasping and panting above him. Kitten licks turn into more languid strokes of his tongue, up and down, until he hears a high keen. The hands on Tony’s thighs ground him just a bit as he sucks gently on Tony’s balls before turning his attention back to his cock. He kisses it idly before finally taking the tip into his mouth and pressing his tongue lightly on the slit.

“_Steve_–!” Tony can’t seem to decide whether he wants to move away or not. He keeps his touch tantalizing, light, reverent, as he listens to Tony lose more and more of his control. The desperate sounds grow louder, the twitches of Tony’s subdued body more erratic as Steve slowly breaks him apart.

Patience is always important in the battlefield, but Steve doesn’t like thinking about it that way. Lovemaking isn’t a battle and Tony isn’t his enemy. He kisses Tony’s inner thigh and wonders if this is what it would be like to worship something. Slow and careful, mindful of every sound and move Tony makes. His sobs, his pleas, his gasps that Steve thought had been lost forever.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “You’re so beautiful, Tony. I want to draw you. I want to paint you like this and keep it forever. But I don’t need a painting, do I?” he adds, slyly. “After all, I have you.”

He takes Tony’s cock all the way down then, and sucks _hard_. Tony’s wail is vindication and absolution, setting fire to Steve’s blood. He bobs his head up and down a few times before drawing back again. The choked off moan Tony gives him encourages him to return to the lighter touches, the gentler ones until Tony is crying out with each brush and breath.

His cock sits heavily on Steve’s tongue when he takes him in again. The scream, the stutter of hips… Tony is so, so close. Steve watches him, entranced, determined to be the only thing on his mind. None of that nonsense about alternate universes and accidental pathways between dimensions. No fiancees or Peters or blue aliens.

Just Steve and Tony, the way they were always meant to be.

“Please, Steve, I can’t – I _can’t _– please!”

The chair creaks, and pale golden sunshine catches in Tony’s hair. His brown eyes are dark and wild with arousal, lips parted as Steve burns away his thoughts and doubts.

He loves Tony as he takes him down again, tantalizing him before he pulls off again. He loves Tony as he listens to him wail and sob and scream incoherently. He loves, and he loves, and he loves until there are no more words or sounds, only harsh breathing and a final, silent scream when he swallows around him and sucks harshly and doesn’t stop until Tony is empty and limp and full of thoughts of Steve.

The sight of him in the chair, sweaty and blissed out, utterly spent, makes him ache sweetly. But he can take care of himself later.

Once Steve has secured Tony back onto the bed, noting the different locks he’ll need now while carrying him, he kisses his forehead tenderly.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

Tony closes his eyes and is silent.

,

New York was unbearably empty, after the decimation.

Moving away from civilization, into the woods, had been Steve’s self-imposed exile. Okoye had invited him to stay at Wakanda, but he couldn’t bear to live in the country where he'd lost their most important battle. And besides, Wakanda had had enough of its own troubles without putting him up as well.

There was a pardon for all the rogue Avengers who survived, but … really, that just meant Steve.

At the time, he’d taken his survival to be his penance. A sort of karma from the universe, for killing Tony in a time and place that felt like a lifetime away.

_So was I_.

He remembers his shield coming down on Tony’s head. Armored hands reaching up to shield his face – too slow, too slow…

Steve remembers the chill biting into his skin. Blood splatter and brain matter on his face. Metal ringing in his ears, and a slight coppery scent in the air.

“Steve,” Bucky had breathed.

It was a moment suspended in time. Frozen, like he had been. A moment when emotion and reason felt so far away, and there was only the harsh sound of Steve’s heavy breaths as he stared down at his shield buried in the face of Howard’s son.

_Tony?_

He remembers screaming.

Looking at Bucky became hell. He and Tony could never be thought of separately after, and as hard as he tried, he could never fully hide it. Not that it mattered much – Bucky couldn’t look at Steve, either.

He’d wondered sometimes if that hadn’t factored into his decision to go back into cryo for a while.

Steve mouths at the underside of Tony’s jaw, acutely aware of the body trembling beneath him. The medicine makes him soft and sweet to the touch even when he pushes Steve away.

Tony moans behind tightly shut lips, and his voice already sounds broken. He’s exquisite, lying back on the sheets, his arms spread out on either side, wrists tied securely with a length of rope that disappears under the bed. His legs are open wide and held that way by the regular restraints, although adjusted in length, attached to the bedframe’s legs.

Soft music filters through the air, some piano rendition of a song Steve remembers vaguely from his childhood. It gives him a tempo to work with as he feels Tony’s body press against his, something less frantic than what he’d done before with the chair.

The bruises from last time are still fading.

Steve’s tongue laves over an old hickey, taking note of the slight hitch in Tony’s breath. He tweaks Tony’s nipples insistently, rubbing them over and over again with the pads of his fingertips. Steve’s cock is hard, has been for a short while now, but he keeps his motions slow and steady.

They have time.

There are no deep kisses between them – ever since the chair, Tony has been careful never to open his mouth for Steve when he goes for his lips. It’s a small rebellion, and while it hurts, Steve has also never been one to back down from a challenge. This time, he settles for pecking Tony once before focusing his attention on the rest of his body.

He suckles on an abused nipple, teething on it gently and flicking his tongue against the tip. There’s a harsh intake of air above him, and he scores another point for himself. Giving the other side the same treatment is a delight that leaves both nipples puffy and red.

Tony’s chest heaves, sucking in air fast and deep through gritted teeth.

Neither of them ever liked giving in to each other.

Steve sucks and licks and bites his way down Tony slowly. His hands spread across the bare olive-toned skin, memorizing the planes and scars that make up the topography of Tony’s warm body.

It’s not until Steve bites the V of Tony’s abdomen, cheek brushing against his untouched cock, that Tony’s mouth finally falls open in a shuddering gasp.

“Shit,” Tony hisses. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, Jesus fucking _Christ, _Steve.”

His eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking out and sliding off his face messily. He doesn’t notice when one of Steve’s hands pulls away. He doesn’t notice it when he reaches up, not until it’s too late.

The gag fits perfectly into his mouth, just like Steve thought it would. The ring isn’t adamantium, but it’s strong enough not to be crushed by Tony’s jaw if he tries to force it shut. Steve straps it into place and leans back to admire his handiwork.

“Gorgeous,” he sighs. Tony’s brown eyes are wide and staring at him, pupils blown in lust and a little terror. He slides a hand down Tony’s fragile chest, fingers lightly skimming the surface of the arc reactor, before palming the faintly twitching erection. He’s unsure why – it could be age or his general poor health or trauma – but it’s been harder than expected to arouse Tony’s body.

A strangled sound escapes Tony as Steve carefully fondles his cock. It fits neatly into the palm of his hand, and he gently strokes up and down. His legs jerk, as if trying once again to snap shut, but the restraints keep him well in place.

Tony’s sad, broken wail has Steve kissing the edge of his open mouth gently. He shushes him, heart aching at the sound.

“I’m here,” he murmurs against the shell of his ear. His free hand cups Tony’s face and strokes his cheek gently in time with the hand on his cock. “I’m here, Tony, and I won’t leave you.”

He’d considered using a blindfold, but the point of this is to observe Tony’s reaction. To _see_ him, truly. Steve can’t do that if he can’t see Tony’s eyes. His mouth, pried open as it is, will let him hear Tony without fear of reservations; the restraints will show him how his body reacts; and open eyes will force Tony to think of him and not whatever other Steve he remembers from his time away.

As he bends over Tony, nose to nose, brown eyes trapped in his, he listens to every grunt and whimper, watches the tears that well up when he twists his wrist just so and the drool that starts sliding out the edge of his mouth.

Steve licks it, just a flick of his tongue, before reaching for the cock ring.

He wants this to last. He wants Tony to remember this forever. He wants to be the Steve Tony thinks of, whether it be in hatred or love, and the Steve his body craves.

_Pepper_, his mind sneers. He’s never thought meanly of Tony’s old PA before, but he’s glad she was part of the population dusted by the decimation. He thinks of her touching Tony, loving Tony, being the one walking down the aisle and making him smile for the rest of his life.

The cock ring slips on and fits just as easily as the gag. There are little _ah, ah, ah_ sounds, as if Tony’s trying to say something, but Steve just smiles and kisses him on the nose.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he breathes just before licking his hand thoroughly.

One day, he thinks as he strokes Tony’s erection – one day, he’ll fuck Tony’s mouth through that gag. One day, Tony will let him.

One day, if only Steve can love him thoroughly enough, Tony won’t want to leave anymore.

Then, he reminds himself of what the doctors said. He reminds himself that there might be no real recovery, no coming back from whatever traumas Thanos brought on Tony’s mind.

None of this is Tony’s fault, and something about the thought urges Steve to kiss his sweaty brow and whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

And once it starts, he can’t stop. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Tony. God, I’m so, so sorry I–” _I killed you_. Even if it’s not true anymore – and maybe it never was – he thought he had for three years, and Christ, Tony’s moan shoots straight down. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I’m sorry I failed, I – Thanos had you. He _had you_, and I didn’t know and I didn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop him from hurting you. I’m so sorry, Tony.

“I love you,” he gasps, lowering himself to rut against Tony, their lengths rubbing together, sparking electricity down their spines. He melts into Tony and breathes his air, teeth biting into his skin as Tony squirms and pulls against the bonds.

Steve comes on him, over his abdomen and chest, and Tony’s cock is straining and red, the cock ring keeping him from reaching his release.

Tony’s head is thrown back, eyes glazed with bliss and puffy from his tears. Jaw slack around the gag, hair wild, and drool spilling out of his mouth, he is utterly debauched. Steve stares at him, enraptured by the image. It feels like something from an old painting, and a feeling of reverence washes over him.

In a world where everything and everyone has left him, Tony has returned. Not the same as before, maybe, but he is here now despite the chaos in the universe.

“You came back for me,” Steve breathes, and decides that it must be true. No other answer will suffice. He stares down at Tony, and a new kind of fervor lights his blood on fire as he runs his hands over Tony’s bruised and aching body. “You came back for me.”

He plucks a bottle of lubricant out of the box, mindful Tony’s eyes tracking his every movement. Steve can feel himself growing hard again, the serum’s quick refractory period taking effect. He pours the lube all over his hand, letting the slick liquid coat his skin.

Almost playfully, he squirts some of the contents over Tony’s cock, listening to the sharp inhale as Steve’s hand helps spread the lubricant over his sensitive flesh. He caresses Tony’s balls gently as well, and the liquid slips down to his rim.

His eyes fall on the tight little hole. Tony jumps when he traces the rim with his finger. There’s a small shout, and he starts struggling for real this time, although with his movements, Steve can’t be sure if he’s trying to escape of come closer. Experimentally, he places a little pressure on the little ring of muscles, and a full shudder wracks Tony’s entire body.

“Does that feel good, Tony?” he croons. Blood rushes down to his dick as Tony starts making urgent sounds. The dark brown irises are only a thin ring in his eyes, and Steve impulsively slips the tip of his finger in.

Tony’s shriek lights fire in his blood, and Steve’s heart pounds in his ears. The music in the background floats through his mind, curling against his emotions until he wants to weep with longing and affection.

Tony came back to him.

“I love you,” Steve tells him as he parts his ass cheeks with his hands. “I’ll love you for the rest of my life, and you’ll stay with me. You’ll stay, Tony.”

The thought of it brings warmth into his heart, and he slips his finger in until the second knuckle. But concern floods when Tony doesn’t stop screaming and struggling with a renewed strength. He’s shaking his head, fresh tears in his eyes, and icy nails sink into his skin as he realizes he’s _hurting_ Tony.

“Oh, shh, sweetheart, shh. No, no, don’t cry again… No…”

Steve removes his finger and he holds Tony’s face as he kisses his open mouth. “I’m sorry,” he chants. “I’m _sorry_.”

Tony doesn’t calm down, though, and he’s not sure why. Steve looks down at him, helplessness choking him, before he resorts to the one thing he does know.

He takes Tony’s flagging erection into his mouth and licks the sensitive underside. Tony’s hips snap upwards but the shout is more out of surprise than pain this time, and Steve takes it as a sign to keep moving, to bob his head up and down, apologies streaming in his mind and fueling his desperation.

Maybe he shouldn’t have used his finger? He hasn’t done this with anyone, didn’t have the time for it before the decimation or during the war and no one wanted him before he was Captain America, and he had no interest in sex after the decimation and he moved out into the middle of nowhere for a reason, damnit.

When Tony is hard again – but still sobbing, why won’t he stop sobbing? – Steve tries again. More thoughtfully this time.

He lifts off the cock with a muted smack. Kisses Tony’s balls, sucking them into his mouth like he’d done when Tony was bound to the chair. With his hands, he lifts Tony’s ass, just a little, for a better angle at his hole.

It’s gone dry, for the most part, and he smears lubricant over it and his hands again. He shushes Tony when he starts whimpering as he realizes what’s about to happen.

“This will hurt a little, Tony,” he says quietly. “But only at first. I promise you it’ll be good. Do you trust me?”

Harsh panting meets his ears, and when he glances up, Tony’s eyes are closed tight. Sensations are heightened when sight is taken away, so Steve lets himself believe it’s a good sign. It needs to be a good sign. Tony needs to want this as much as he does.

“I love you,” he murmurs, trying so hard not to be hurt. “And I know you love me. Even if you won’t admit it right now.”

He licks Tony’s rim, tracing the muscle with his tongue and feeling it flutter at the foreign sensation. Tony moans somewhere above him, and it’s a deep, breathy sound devoid of the pain that was present earlier. Steve lets him have that, the time to adjust to the foreign sensation. And the thought appeals to him, that Tony, despite whatever the media has said about his playboy tendencies over the years, has never done this with someone before.

This can be a first for both of them.

He pauses when the dip of his tongue makes Tony whimper piteously like a wounded animal. Then, he presses in deeper, licking his insides as much as he can reach.

By the time his finger breaches Tony’s entrance again, there is no shriek or desperate struggle to get away from him. Tony’s eyes are still closed, and his body writhes as much as it can with the allowances given by his restraints, but his moans are soft now, and deep.

Steve leans back, quietly pumping a single finger in and out and watching Tony’s face carefully. His jaw tightens around the gag when a second finger is added.

It should be boring, he thinks, considering their almost glacial pace. But there’s something just … absolutely thrilling at discovering Tony’s most intimate places and reactions. The revelation that Tony is here for him fills Steve with an almost unbearable affection as he peppers his face with reverent kisses.

Three fingers, and Tony makes sharp little noises. Steve slides them in and out at a steady pace, delighting at how they move so easily, and this time, he’s the one groaning.

Steve’s cock brushes his entrance, and Tony’s eyelids fly open. He starts shaking his head wildly, and the light in his eyes reminds Steve sharply of the mania in the hospital and the first time he tried to escape, screaming that he doesn’t belong in this universe.

Pushing inside Tony is a little harder than necessary. His muscles hug Steve’s cock tightly, punching the air out of his lungs, but he keeps his hold on Tony’s hips steady. He bottoms out eventually, balls brushing against Tony’s ass.

Then, he breathes. Leans down on his elbows on either side of Tony’s head and lets both of them adjust. Tony’s hair is wild, and he buries his face in it, breathing in his scent.

Heavenly bliss is the only way Steve can describe the sensation of moving in and out of Tony. He makes a steady rhythm against the stutter of Tony’s hips, his cock trapped between them. Tony wails helplessly, unable to come or move, and Steve wraps his arms around him.

He closes his eyes and rocks in and out of Tony, a strange contentment taking hold of him. When Tony shouts at a brush to his prostate, Steve quickly angles himself to hit it more consistently, but otherwise makes no other move. Satisfaction blooms at the whimpers and keens that reach his ears, and he kisses the crown of Tony’s head.

When he takes the cock ring away and strokes Tony to his release, when Steve fills him with his own, and they lie together, gag undone, Steve holds him close. And for the first time since Thanos, since the ice, since the day his Ma died – feels complete.

,

“I’m trusting you with this,” Steve tells him as he secures the ankle tracker. The lock mechanism, like all of the exits to their home, will only release with his thumbprint. Some might say that a tracking chip under his skin would be wiser, but he wouldn’t put it past Tony to just tear it out – it isn’t as if he’s not used to pain. The ankle tracker is built to be more secure with a number of fail safes a chip wouldn’t have.

Tony nods quietly. He didn't speak much before, but he's been more reticent since their time together, almost as if Steve had stolen his soul and his voice when he’d filled him with his come.

Privately, Steve thinks it’s the shock from realizing that this is his home. Shock and maybe a fully realized grief. Either way, he can only wait for it to pass.

“When you’re better, we can take a walk around the lake. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

He’s free to roam inside the house now, and after so many weeks, the progress makes Steve swell with pride and a bit of hope. The doctors said he might never improve, and certainly, he might never gain all of the lost weight back, but Tony’s mind is surely coming back to him.

Hobbies are good, he thinks, and is reminded of a charcoal set in one of the spare rooms that he never really made into his own workshop – he’d started a long time ago, but never came around to completing it. There are paints there, and brushes and blank canvasses he bought after the decimation but never had the heart to fill in. There’s even a professional camera, because Nat mentioned once before that maybe he’d like to try other kinds of art.

Maybe he’ll do that now.

Steve kisses Tony lightly, and wonders if he can’t outfit the garage to be Tony’s workshop.

Five days later, he finds Tony on the bathroom floor with his blood on the tiles, one of their small hunting knives in hand.

,

He doesn’t understand.

“I thought he was getting better,” Steve croaks to the psychiatrist. They’re in the office. Tony is under sedation after waking up in the hospital in hysterics again.

They say he needs to make a decision.

“I’m not having him committed,” he says firmly. “I won’t do that to him.”

Tony has spent most of his life surrounded by people who were only paid to care about him. And while some of them probably did – Jarvis, Pepper, Happy, to name a few that he knows of – doing more of the same now won’t help his mental state.

And he knows stories, of course. Remembers them from when his Ma used to work at different hospitals. The patients that claimed they were abused by the medical staff, and no one could ever tell if the stories were true or not. Steve doesn’t want that kind of doubt between him and Tony. And he doesn’t want the chance of something so awful to even come close to reality.

So, he shakes his head. “I’ll take care of him.”

Tony has to stay at the hospital overnight for observation, and Steve takes the opportunity to hide all of their knives and sharp objects. He increases the medicine dosage incrementally, knowing that it will keep Tony from walking reliably on his own, and makes a note to pick up a wheelchair the next day. He briefly considers purchasing a car that can actually transport one, too, but ultimately discards it. Tony doesn’t need to go anywhere or see anyone. He has Steve.

Bringing Tony home is strange in a way that it wasn’t the first time. Steve watches him carefully and doesn’t let him out of his sight. He’s attached restraints to the wheelchair and he straps Tony in so he isn’t stuck in the bed all day like he was before.

“It’s good for him to have routines,” the psychiatrist had said, so Steve makes one. Tony accompanies him around the house when he does chores and other small errands; they go outside to breathe fresh air and give Tony a change of surroundings. Steve doesn't bring Tony into the city, though - supplies are ordered online and brought to their doorstep, and Steve learns the hard way to gag him whenever the delivery comes in so he doesn't scream his head off like Steve is trying to murder him.

It's slow, and the changes are small, but Tony’s skin loses some of its pallor as he’s exposed to more sunlight. The vitamins help him gain a little weight. He’s still a far cry from the man Steve first met, but he’s starting to accept that he’ll never be the same way he was before and all it implies, and takes what he gets.

He doesn’t speak to Steve.

That’s okay.

They don’t need words.

Steve snaps a picture on the camera. It captures Tony from an angle, the blindfold over his eyes, his lips plump around the ball gag. The lights are off, the room lit solely by little tea candles on the tables and shelves, giving off a gentle glow. There’s no music this time, and the only sounds aside from the camera and Steve’s breathing are the little moans and whimpers Tony makes.

Silk ties bind his wrists above his head as he rests on the padded table. His legs have been drawn up and tied so they stay bent at the knee. There’s nothing keeping them apart, and he closes them even as he shifts, and the plug inside his ass moves with him.

It’s lovely, if he does say so himself.

Steve reaches inside his pocket to fiddle at the little remote, and Tony’s head falls back on the cushions as the plug hums inside him. His hips pump helplessly into the air, and his dick twitches even though he’d only come a few minutes ago.

He’s flushed and naked, spread out like a sacrifice. Steve’s mouth is dry as he pries Tony’s legs apart.

“Be still,” he says lowly and, from that angle, snaps another picture.

The camera is filled with pictures of Tony. Tony looking out on the window from his wheelchair, pale and withdrawn. Tony sleeping in his bed, wrists and legs bound to the frame. Tony gasping and crying as he comes, lips parted and eyes shining bright.

Steve presses his palm against the vibrator, listens to the uncontrollable sobbing that wracks Tony’s chest as he does. The toy presses up against his prostate, and with Steve adding pressure to it…

“Do you like that, sweetheart?” he coos sweetly. “Does it feel good?”

He doesn’t know why Tony would ever try to leave him. Hell, he doesn’t know where Tony can even _go_. He’s not sure Tony knows, either.

It’s a strange thought, that Tony might not be able to piece himself back together. In Steve’s mind, he has always been so … capable. Strong. Not always right, but he tried. Always.

Even when it meant going against Steve.

He leans down and takes Tony into his mouth. Tony spasms at the contact, likely still oversensitive from his previous orgasm, and Steve is gentle as he suckles on his still limp cock.

The entire room is dedicated to Tony. It’s a separate place where Steve proves how much he needs him. They make love in Tony’s bedroom, but this room that Steve has put together is where he can _adore_ Tony.

Steve’s love mars Tony’s skin in purple and red splotches. His bitemarks, his handprints and the outline of his fingers. He moans and takes Tony in deeper, until his cock hits the back of his throat, listening to the succession of screams muffled into the gag as he simultaneously turns the vibrator’s settings up.

There is no place for pain here. There are no whips or paddles as Steve found to his horror when he started looking things up on the internet. The thought of bringing Tony even close to harm is nauseating.

No, he’d only bought good things for Tony. The silken ties and rope, padded restraints, a small assortment of toys and gags, but not much else. He means to worship Tony in their moments, not domineer his body.

Tony’s scream melts into a long, equally muffled wail as he comes inside Steve’s mouth. He swallows dutifully, licking the droplets off his lips.

He’ll take everything Tony has to give, and devote his entire life to looking after this man who’s somehow come back for him.

Tony’s eyes have that familiar glazed look when Steve unties the blindfold. The gag comes off, too, and so do the ties and the vibrator. The drugs keep Tony from moving too much, and he simply lies back on the table, too exhausted to move or cover himself in some way.

Steve snaps a picture.

,

There’s a path by the lakeside Steve pushes Tony's wheelchair along during the early mornings. It used to be that the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement would clear his mind, but there’s something equally soothing about walking with Tony. The sunlight is bright and warm – good for Tony, who somehow looks more fragile than ever these days.

“When we lost, I thought it was all over,” Steve says thoughtfully, and thinking of that day almost three years ago now no longer inspires the sorrow it once did. He looks out onto the water, at the sunlight winking off the rippling surface. “I thought my entire life was over. I thought ‘what’s the point of Captain America when he fails at the biggest moment’?”

Tony makes a confused noise when he stops the wheelchair and starts undoing the restraints. With the same tenderness he used with children as Captain America, Steve lifts him into his arms.

Little deviations from routines are good, too.

“I tried, you know. But no one wanted my help, not after the Civil War and … and what I did to you.

“The world was one fire, but no one wanted me to be involved, so I tried holding counseling sessions for a while instead. But it was like being trapped in the ice but worse because I was watching everyone else move on while I was just … stuck. I used to close my eyes and imagine I was back at SHIELD or the Tower, or – hell, that I was in my old apartment in Brooklyn. And I couldn’t stay in New York without thinking of you, so I … I moved out here.”

He sits down on the grass with Tony in his arms and settles him in between his legs. Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and buries his face in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder.

“I was so lost.”

His hands snakes under Tony’s sweater - he's always cold these days - to spread across the expanse of his stomach. His body always runs hot, but Tony shivers all the same.

“But then you came back … and I realized.” Into the shell of Tony’s ear, he whispers, “My life had just begun.”

At the lakeside, it’s like nothing ever happened to the world. And maybe that’s because the world doesn’t matter out here. Should the sky fall or governments fail or heroes die, the lake will be here, rippling and silent, just as it always has been.

“Everything's going to be okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly with a tender kiss to Tony’s temple. “I promise. I’ve got you."

Forever.

,

,

,

**Author's Note:**

> 9/17: EDITED
> 
> If you spot further errors in writing/grammar, feel free to point them out. I don't have a beta reader for this fandom, and I appreciate the help :)


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